The Mask: A Story Untold
by saber-otter
Summary: Mystery shrouds the life of the gray otter who was master of disguises in Mossflower. This tale tells the story of Mask, known as Riverwyte in his younger days.
1. The Birth of a Legend

CHAPTER ONE: THE BIRTH OF A LEGEND  
  
As the newborn otter was placed into his mother's arms along with his brothers, it was plain that he was different. The tiny cub was calmer, and as his two siblings wriggled and wailed, he sat silently and sucked his paw.  
  
The proud new father hefted each babe one at a time, laughing in his deep bass voice. "Hohoho! Who woulda thought I'd ever have three sons t'me name, eh? Icespring, take a look at these husky liddle fellers!"  
  
The female otter pulled a soft green blanket closer around her, sighing exhaustedly. "Yes...they're beautiful, Riverpike."  
  
Riverpike lifted the first and biggest babe high, still laughing happily. "Beautiful, yes. And they'll grow into three tall, strong, and handsome beasts, fleet of paw and deadly in battle!"  
  
Icespring nodded with a smile. "Let's hope that they'll never need to fight anybeast. Peaceful creatures live the happiest lives, you know."  
  
Riverpike brought the infant close to his face. "Aye, but just let the first vermin come down the road. You'll make him sorry he ever crossed paths with a son of Riverpike, won't you? An' you'll need a warrior's name to remind you of this. Be known in this holt and in Mossflower forever as Warthorn!" He passed the young otter to his wife, who smiled approvingly.  
  
Hefting the next, he laughed as the small cub bared his teeth and swatted at his wrists with tiny paws. "Yore a feisty one! Fierce an' fearless! I'll call you after one of the greatest otter warriors to ever swim in the River Moss: Bargud of the Ironpaw!  
  
Finally the big male otter lifted the last babe. "Well, that's odd..."  
  
Icespring looked worried and sat up slightly in her bed. "What is it, what's wrong?"  
  
"Oh no, it's nothing...I've never seen an otter born with gray fur before, especially when the fur of his parents and brothers is brown. His eyes are strange, too; they are the lightest gray-blue imaginable." Riverpike stared at the ottercub, who looked back at his father, solemnly sucking a paw. His strangely pale eyes shifted suddenly to the belt strapped diagonally across Riverpike's chest. A small gray paw reached out and grasped the hilt of a knife sheathed in a slit in the leather band. Riverpike's furrowed brow relaxed and he grinned proudly. "Ah, you have the spirit of a fighter too. You may not grow as big or strong as your brothers, but you will be the most deadly once you grow up, that's for sure..." He drew the knife and held it before the infant, who tried to grip the handle in one paw while exploring the coolness of the metal blade in the other.  
  
Icespring cradled her other two sons, who by now were slumbering peacefully. "Why don't we call that one Riverwyte? His fur is almost the same color as the rapids downstream."  
  
Riverpike held the other cub high, beaming. "Yes, it suits him. Riverwyte you shall be!" The gray otterbabe stretched his tiny limbs and yawned, and his father returned him to Icespring. All three newborn otters were soon sleeping silently, save for an occasional growl or squeak as they dreamed. 


	2. Five Seasons Pass

CHAPTER TWO: FIVE SEASONS PASS  
  
The still morning was broken in Mossflower by laughing and shouting as the young otters in the holt spilled outside to play. While most made a beeline for the stream, three remained on the sandy bank. The brothers Warthorn, Bargud, and Riverwyte had planned to play a battle game that morning and were now choosing parts.  
  
"I want to be Deathrudder, otter champion and axe fighter!" Warthorn called quickly. Being the biggest and most assertive, he often got to play the hero. "Who's going to be the vermin?"  
  
"Not me!" Bargud and Riverwyte called in perfect unison. They spun quickly to face each other.  
  
"You be the vermin!" Riverwyte insisted.  
  
Bargud protested, "No way, I had to be vermin last time. It's your turn!"  
  
"Oh, all right," Riverwyte acquiesced reluctantly. "I'll be, uh...Brokefang the Ferret King!"  
  
"Then I'm Streamwrath the Spear Master!" proclaimed Bargud. "Let's get our battlegear an' play!"  
  
It was a perilous situation. The Ferret King stood over Streamwrath, cackling wickedly as he held a long stick to his neck. "Heh heh heh, make one move an' I cutcha throat, otter!"  
  
Suddenly Deathrudder ran up with a wooden toy hatchet, striking a gallant pose. Don't worry, Bar- er, Streamwrath! I'll kill that vermin for you! Give me a second and I'll get 'im with my axe!"  
  
The pretended ferret lifted his stick to confront Deathrudder. "Have a taste o' me saber, why don't ye?!"  
  
Streamwrath suddenly snatched his "spear" and jumped on Brokefang. "Attaaaaaaack!" he cried, and all three creatures dropped their make- believe weapons and wrestled furiously.  
  
For an instant, Riverwyte felt himself pinned by Bargud and Warthorn, and it was almost as if a switch was flipped in his head. Forgetting that being the vermin he was supposed to "lose" the battle and "die," the young otter began fighting back. His spirit was suddenly dead set against the thought of defeat. Thrashing savagely, Riverwyte freed himself from his brothers' grasp and set them both on their tails. Laughing, he jumped into the fray again. "C'mon guys, let's wrestle some more! Grr, the Ferret King isn't dead yet!" Thoroughly enjoying himself, the gray otter wrestled with all his might until his brothers escaped.  
  
Breathing heavily, Bargud commented, "Whew! I'm exhausted. Let's go for a swim to cool off." Warthorn nodded his agreement.  
  
"All right, but let's play some more later, and I get to be Deathrudder!" Riverwyte slid into the river with his siblings.  
  
Riverpike stood at the holt entrance with his wife. "Riverwyte sure loves fighting, doesn't he?"  
  
Icespring watched her sons laughing and splashing in the shallows. "Yes, but I wonder if there's, you know, anything wrong with him. I've never seen a young one so fixated on war and violence in a time of peace."  
  
Riverpike put an arm around Icespring's shoulders. "There may be something wrong with the way his mind works, or perhaps he has more warrior spirit than is usual for such a young beast. No matter what, it's important that we stand by him."  
  
The female otter nodded, then called out, "Make sure you don't get too dirty. There's watershrimp for breakfast an' you three won't get any if unless you've got clean paws!"  
  
Riverwyte, Warthorn, and Bargud chorused, "Yes, Mum," and didn't roll their eyes and groan until she'd turned around.  
  
"When I'm a bigbeast I'm never gonna wash! I'm gonna do everything my way!" announced Warthorn confidentially.  
  
After washing, the three young otters made their way back to the holt, where the smell of watershrimp saturated the air. All three breathed deeply and hurried in, licking their lips. They'd filled their plates and were ready to dig in when there was a loud clatter. Knocking over a stack of javelins, a burly scarred otter fell through the holt entrance, panting heavily. A bloodstained rag was bound about one arm and his legs were badly scratched from running through undergrowth. He seemed about to say something when he moaned and lost consciousness. 


	3. The Arrival

CHAPTER THREE: THE ARRIVAL  
  
Riverpike was the first to the fallen otter's side. He wiped the sweat from the poor beast's forehead and with the help of a few others, dragged him inside and placed him on a blanket. The current holt Chieftain, a big black otter known as Nitestream, picked up a jug of water and brought it over. He cupped a paw and scooped up some water, which he dashed on the senseless otter's forehead. "C'mon, Waterfall..." he urged, and relaxed a little when the muscular otter stirred, groaned, and opened his eyes.  
  
Nitestream set down the water jug and knelt by him, using a corner of the blanket to wipe moisture from his brow. "Waterfall...what's happened to you, mate?"  
  
Wincing a bit, the big tough otter sat up, rubbing a bruise on his jaw. "Bad news, mateys. Y'know th' old ruins near the river?"  
  
Riverpike nodded. "Yes, what about 'em?"  
  
"Vermin army came through ten minutes ago. I had to hurry to the old church and tell the mice livin' there to get goin'. They got away safely, went straight north as I recall. Anyway, as I was comin' out of th' church, their army was passing in front of the door. Luckily they were surprised enough for me to knock down a few and escape into the woods. I gashed my shoulder on one of their spearblades and got all bruised up as they tried to stop me. Several of them, especially the ones I'd floored, started to run after me, but their leader stopped them. I heard him shout, 'Forget it! Wait until we've conquered this land and can fix up that old stone castle. Then you can capture and kill who you wish!'"  
  
The otters began talking all at once angrily. "They can't just conquer Mossflower!"  
  
"Aye, let's get all the crews together an' beat the stuffin' out of 'em!"  
  
Waterfall coughed painfully, shaking his head. "You have no idea how many vermin there are. I saw roughly five hundred, maybe more. And these aren't the scurvy thieves we're used to. These are ferrets, weasels, and stoats with training as soldiers. To top it off, their leader is a huge wildcat. There were also two other smaller wildcats by his side, probably his offspring. There are few fighters as strong and ferocious as a full grown wildcat."  
  
Silence prevailed in the holt. The otters exchanged worried glances and some gnawed anxiously on their claws.  
  
Riverpike offered a suggestion. "Then I guess the element of surprise is our best chance. Wait until the wildcat and his pack of vermin get settled comfortably in. Meanwhile, we'll be joining all the ottertribes in these parts into one big crew. While they relax and get soft, we'll be training until nothing can stand against us! Then, we'll attack and send the evil pack on their way."  
  
Nitestream nodded. "Just what I was about to say. Mudd, spread the word to the other holts," he ordered, pointing at a sleek otter with a rich brown coat. Mudd nodded dutifully and bounded outside. Not long after, there was a splash and he was gone.  
  
Icespring noticed her three sons headed toward the holt entrance. "Where d'you think you three are goin' with all those vermin out there?"  
  
Riverwyte held up a dinner knife he'd purloined from the table. "We're goin' out there to fight 'em, an' chop 'em all up into little bits..."  
  
"Enough!" Icespring took the eating utensils from the young otters and shooed them away. "Get off to your rooms an' make those beds. Then you can play in here, but don't go outside!"  
  
Scowling, Bargud, Warthorn, and Riverwyte trudged off to do their mother's bidding.  
  
There was a rustling of foliage outside, and a young squirrel about four or five seasons old appeared in the doorway. She wore a simple green tunic and carried a knapsack on her back. "I've got a 'portant message from my mum the Squirrelqueen!" Opening her little knapsack, the small red squirrel pulled out a scroll and handed it to Nitestream. 


	4. Messages

CHAPTER FOUR: MESSAGES  
  
Nitestream took the scroll from the young squirrel and unrolled it. He stared at the parchment blankly, then sheepishly handed it to Riverpike. "Here, mate...'fraid I don't have much of a flair for readin'..."  
  
Riverpike read from the scroll to the twenty or so grown otters in the holt. "A message from Squirrelqueen Ivy to Nitestream of the southeast otter holt. I hope Amber got this to you without much trouble. You may know that a band of several hundred vermin led by three wildcats has settled in the old ruins. My squirrels were in the trees above them as they marched in. From what their leader said, the place is to be called Kotir; from it he plans to bend all of Mossflower to his will. I'm worried about the more part of woodlanders, for they are peaceful. There are two badgers still here, Bella and Barkstripe of Brockhall, not including their newborn son. However, since Boar the Fighter relinquished his rule of Mossflower, there have been no great warriors in the area. I'd like to meet with you and discuss what can be done to keep us all free. Signed, Ivy, Squirrelqueen of the Mossflower Squirreltribe. "  
  
Nitestream patted the young messenger on the back. "Well then, young Amber, let's get you somethin' to eat before you go back, eh?"  
  
As the squirrel gratefully dug into a salad, the otter Mudd returned, dripping. "I've been to the other four holts, and all the otter Chieftains want us to meet at the Rock. At midnight we'll all discuss what is to happen."  
  
Riverpike grabbed a piece of charcoal and hastily scrawled a message underneath the Squirrelqueen's signature on the scroll. "The ottertribes are meeting at the Rock tonight at midnight. Have your squirrels be there, too. We'll be discussing what to do about the vermin army. If you can, have squirrels spy on the today so at the meeting we'll know exactly what's going on. Signed, Riverpike and Nitestream of the southeast otter holt."  
  
The young squirrel Amber had finished her salad, and Riverpike gave her the scroll. "Make sure your mother gets that; it's very important!" he told her with a wink. Amber tried to wink back at the otter but only succeeded in blinking hard a few times. She stuffed the scroll back in her knapsack, and in a flash of red fur she was gone.  
  
Nitestream held his paws up for silence and waited until his otters were paying attention. "All right, I suggest you all spend today getting your things together. If we all combine ottercrews, we're going to have to hide somewhere less conspicuous than this. Just make sure you bring only what you can carry; we travel light from now on."  
  
Riverpike gave his wife a sidelong glance. "Looks like Riverwyte will get his chance to be a warrior after all." 


	5. A Gathering of Warriors

CHAPTER FIVE: A GATHERING OF WARRIORS  
  
Riverwyte climbed out of the water onto the Rock with his family, shaking water from his gray fur and shedding the small knapsack that held his personal belongings: a wooden sword, a stuffed otter, and a pawful of candied fruit.  
  
The Rock was a huge chunk of limestone that reared out of the middle of the River Moss. It was big enough to allow the fivescore squirrels to sit on the dry part in the middle and the fivescore otters and their families to sit on the parts covered by water.  
  
The five otter leaders and Ivy the Squirrelqueen stood in the center of the Rock and conversed in low tones for several minutes. Finally the biggest and strongest otter Chieftain, whose name was Rockfist, addressed the two hundred woodland warriors.  
  
"Those with torches, douse them, please. We have enough moonlight to go by. If the wildcat's troops are patrolling, the flames will give us away."  
  
Willingly, the squirrels and otters who were carrying torches threw them over the heads of the others into the river. Darkness fell with a hiss, save for a faint glow produced by the half moon overhead.  
  
Rockfist nodded. "Thank you. Ivy, would you mind starting out with our spy report so everybeast knows what's going on?"  
  
The Squirrelqueen wasted no time. "I had five of my squirrels watch the vermin army today. The wildcat has made them very busy. They have repaired the castle roof and have put in stout new gates. The structure is nearly ready for use, partially because it has stayed in fairly good shape since it was last used in bygone ages. There are five hundred and thirty beasts, and all save five of these are soldiers. Of these five, there are the three wildcats, the biggest of which is the army leader, Verduaga Greeneyes. The two other wildcats are only half-grown, known as Tsarmina and Gingivere. My spies are fairly sure that they are Verduaga's offspring. The other two that are not soldiers are a vixen and a pine marten who seem to serve as advisors. All in all, the vermin army outnumbers us more than two to one."  
  
Silence fell as the gathered creatures digested this information. Then Nitestream took the floor. "Our plan is to wait five seasons, let the vermin get settled in. During this time they'll probably slack off on their training and get soft because of the lack of opposition. Once they're sure they've got all of Mossflower under their claws, we attack. First we'll pick off as many as we can with arrows and slingstones to make sure that when our forces clash, there will be as few vermin to fight as possible. That way, we'll have a greater chance to win!"  
  
Everyone turned their heads at the sound of a young otter's voice. Warthorn stood up boldly and commented, "But the vermin will be more fortified in their castle by then! If they refuse to come out and fight us, we won't stand a chance storming the castle with this few fighters! Let's attack them now when they're not expectin' it!"  
  
Nitestream chuckled affectionately. "Looks like we've got a little Skipper in the making! Good point, young Warthorn. However, if we were to fight them now, we'd be facing a fully trained army, and we're already outnumbered. The point is to let their troops forget to train and lose experience in battle."  
  
Warthorn was about to say more, but his father gently placed a paw on his shoulder and he sat down.  
  
Rockfist folded his paws. "All right, so everybeast agrees with this plan?" As two hundred paws reached skyward and two hundred heads nodded their accord, the big otter grinned. "Right! So, now it's time for battle plans, not to mention a place for all of us to stay. First off, is there a big and secluded enough holt for all the otters to hide and train?" The holt leaders all shook their heads wordlessly, and Rockfist shrugged. "Okay, where can we build such a holt?"  
  
An otter somewhere in the audience cleared his throat. "Further upstream there's a small inlet, and a enormous ole willow is growin' there. A huge thicket of thorns blocks it off from the rest of the woods, so the vermin probably won't chance goin' past it unless they already knew we were there."  
  
Rockfist nodded. "Good. We can dig a holt under the tree, perhaps. Ivy, do your squirrels need a camp set up anywhere?"  
  
Ivy shook her head. "No, as long as my squirrels have trees, we can be invisible."  
  
"All right, now let's discuss our strategy..."  
  
As the grownbeasts talked into the night, Riverwyte and his brothers lost interest and slowly drifted to sleep. 


	6. At Kotir

CHAPTER SIX: AT KOTIR  
  
Verduaga Greeneyes stood on a pile of rubble, arms folded and scarlet cloak fluttering slightly in the night breezes. He watched silently as his army dashed around, repairing broken stone and replacing rotten doors. Since there were so many vermin, the work was getting done very quickly. There were advantages to having so vast a force.  
  
His Captain of the Guard, a tall ferret called Chokepaw, marched up and saluted. He wore the normal attire of one of the wildcat's soldiers, which consisted of a heavy forest green tunic with a chainmail vest over it, belted at the waist. A metal plate was attached to the front of the chainmail vest in the middle of the chest area, and on it was engraved the symbol of the Thousand Eyes, Verduaga's mark. As a Captain, Chokepaw also wore a blue cloak as a mark of rank, more for decoration than anything else.  
  
Verduaga's emerald-hued eyes shifted to his Captain and shone eerily in the light of the torch the ferret was holding. "How goes it?" His voice was not rough, nor did it give one the impression that he was growling, yet the undertone of menace made Chokepaw's neckfur stand on end.  
  
The ferret waved a paw toward the old castle. "Lord, the initial repairwork is done. As time passes we can strengthen the walls and pay attention to minor details."  
  
The wildcat continued to stare unblinkingly at his Captain. "And the interior?"  
  
Chokepaw had never seen a beast who could go as long without blinking as Verduaga. He tried to ignore his apprehension and replied smartly, "The structure has held up to time well, Milord. Inside we only had to replace a few doors and do some minor repairs. Then we can begin building furniture, for it's pretty empty in there."  
  
Verduaga's eyes left Chokepaw for a moment and scanned the army, finally resting on two stoats. "Those two – Scarfang and Roughback – get them and give them a tent canvas and some dyes. Tell them to make a tapestry with my likeness, and be sure to mention that their lives depend on its quality. Tomorrow, you can send patrols into the forest to look for wood to make furniture."  
  
The ferret Captain bowed low and set off to do his master's bidding.  
  
Lord Greeneyes turned his head and stared into the dark woodlands. Arms still folded, he extended and retracted his claws a few times. "Heh heh heh, soon you weak little woodlanders will be under my claws," he chuckled with a half-growl. 


	7. Training

CHAPTER SEVEN: TRAINING  
  
As the sun rose over Mossflower, most beasts were still asleep. However, the secret otter headquarters at Camp Willow, named for the huge willow tree growing over it, was bustling with activity. Five seasons had passed since the warrior council at the Rock, and otters and squirrels alike were training with all their strength in the woods. Riverwyte, Bargud, and Warthorn (who everyone affectionately called Skipper after his outburst at the meeting) were old enough to train with the others, being ten seasons old. (For an otter, this was about the middle of adolescence, approximately 15 or 16 by human standards.)  
  
All the squirrels were in the trees practicing archery by shooting at targets while jumping from branch to branch. Some, like young Amber, daughter of the Squirrelqueen and almost as old as the three otter brothers, were so proficient at this drill that they had somebeast move the target while they practiced.  
  
Amber nocked an arrow to her bowstring and called, "Taking off!" As she bounded through the trees, her mother pulled the target in random directions on a rope. The target slid left; Amber adjusted her aim and fired. The shaft sunk deep into the red bullseye, only slightly off center.  
  
Ivy grunted as she tugged the arrow out. Beaming, she took hold of the rope once more. "Do that three more times and you'll be done for the day!"  
  
By the river, Rockfist blew on a carved wooden whistle. A row of ten otters charged out of the river, double-pointed javelins held forward as they hit a column of "vermin" made from dead grass and old blankets sewn together. Rockfist, who had been elected Chieftain of the joint ottercrews, nodded. "Good work, mates. Try to come out a bit faster next time."  
  
One drove his javelin into the ground and slicked water off his arms. "Righto, Rock!"  
  
The big otter waved him off to clear the charging ground. "All right, next group!"  
  
Ten otters in the river submerged, gripping their javelins and awaiting the signal.  
  
Riverwyte and his brothers were practicing paw-to-paw combat on the riverbank. Skipper had picked out a tall, rotting tree stump and was pretending that it was an enemy, stabbing and thrusting at it with his javelin. Bargud, who preferred the heavier spear, imagined a vermin standing before him as he jabbed expertly at the air. Riverwyte slashed and stabbed at the branches of a maple tree with his rapier, an unusual weapon choice for an otter.  
  
Skipper and Bargud had grown a lot over the seasons, and all the training they had endured showed in their well-developed arm, leg, and rudder muscles. Riverwyte, on the other hand, was nearly as tall as his brothers and had trained just as hard, but he remained slim and lanky without the impressive muscular bulk of Skipper and Bargud. However, this was deceiving. One day the training had consisted of wrestling matches among the otters, and many a burly beast had challenged the odd gray otter expecting to pin him in a matter of seconds. Unexpectedly, Riverwyte had defeated all comers, even Skipper, his biggest brother. He also possessed more paw speed than the average otter, a reason he was so proficient with his rapier.  
  
Skipper eventually grew bored with ripping apart the stump with his javelin, and he stuck it in the banksand. "I can't believe we're attacking Kotir in five days," he sighed. "This doesn't feel right. I'm as angry as the next otter that the wildcat came here and I'd like to fight him like everyone else, but we should have recruited at least a hundred more fighters. Even if the vermin have completely given up training and become as soft as anybeast can be, the panic of our attack will probably lend them enough strength to jeopardize our chances of winning."  
  
Bargud stuck his spear in the bank next to Skipper's. "Aye, but as hopeless as our cause is, I'm still ready to fight for it."  
  
Riverwyte finished mutilating a maple branch and sheathed his blade. "I say a bit of spy work wouldn't hurt. Or maybe an assassin." He turned and slipped into the forest, leaving his brothers to stare at each other and wonder what their strange brother was up to. Skipper suddenly forgot about Riverwyte when a ferret with a gold earring stumped bad-temperedly out of the woods behind them, snarling. Skipper bounded forward and grabbed the vermin by his filthy tunic, putting a small knife he owned to its throat and growling, "Don't move."  
  
The ferret chuckled and dusted the dark markings from his face, then brushed the dirt from his tunic. Unclipping the gold earring, he soothed, "It's okay, mate; it's just me."  
  
Skipper recognized the beast as Riverwyte and let him go quickly with a surprised smile. "Wow, how'd you do that?"  
  
Riverwyte shrugged. "Simple. The key is to not just look like the creature you're imitating, but also to move and think the way it would. I'm imagining that perhaps a ferret will hook up with a Kotir patrol, saying he'd been lost in the woods. He returns to Kotir and while the horde goes about his business, he's headed up to Greeneye's chamber with a dagger in his paw..."  
  
Skipper shook his head fervently. "Good idea, Riverwyte, but you know that Dad or Rockfist will never let you do that. It wouldn't be a very honorable victory."  
  
Riverwyte shrugged again. "Oh well. At least my rapier and I will give them something to remember in the battle." 


	8. The Time Has Come

CHAPTER EIGHT: "THE TIME HAS COME"  
  
The sky was barely tinged orange when Ivy Squirrelqueen and her daughter Amber led the hundred or so squirrels through the trees. Each carried a bow over a shoulder and full quivers at either hip. They swung over the thicket of thorns and landed on the riverbank at Camp Willow, where the fivescore otters were waiting.  
  
Rockfist carried a long pole with a torch tied to its tip. As he noticed the squirrels arriving, he dropped the pole into the river to extinguish the flame. Striding forward, the big otter shook Ivy's paw firmly. "Well, today's the day we drive 'em out. In a few hours, there's going to be a lot of surprised vermin over at Kotir!"  
  
The squirrel smiled and toyed with an arrow she was holding. "Very sad villains too, I'd wager."  
  
There was a rustling in the thorn bushes and a muffled grunt. Rockfist seized his javelin and held it at the ready, but he lowered it again when a badger crashed through, sucking on a paw. "Ouch, blasted thorn!"  
  
Rockfist held out his paw and felt it enveloped by a bigger, stronger one. "Barkstripe, glad to see you here. Thanks for helping us out today."  
  
The big badger was clad in a suit of armor that hadn't been used in many seasons. He blew dust off of the shoulderplates as he replied, "Look at me; A farmer going out to war. However, I'm proud to be fighting for Mossflower. As Boar's son-in-law, I feel I have a duty to do so in his absence."  
  
Ivy Squirrelqueen gripped Barkstripe's other paw. "We all do. Let's go now, for Mossflower!"  
  
The squirrels leaped into the trees, the otters slid into the river, and Barkstripe jogged down the riverbank, carrying a sword he'd found in Boar the Fighter's old possessions.  
  
Several minutes later all had arrived at the woodland fringe, and just over two hundred eyes gazed down at Kotir. A new wall had been built around the structure, and outside this wall were many grain and vegetable fields. Dilapidated hovels dotted the landscape, and as the first ray of sunlight penetrated the forest, creatures stumbled exhaustedly out of the little hut. Toting rakes, hoes, and shovels, they filed into the crop fields and began to work furiously.  
  
In the field nearest the tree fringe, a mouse was struggling with a huge bundle of wheat stalks when he turned and saw the gathered warriors. Making sure he wasn't being watched, the mouse scurried up and grabbed Rockfist's paw. "Rockfist, mate! What brings you and your otters here? We thought you and the squirrels had taken off after ole Greeneyes took over!"  
  
The big otter felt sympathy tug at him as he studied the mouse. Seasons of work had literally worn the shirt off his back, and Rockfist could count the unfortunate creature's ribs. "Mikk, you need some rest an' food! Why are you overworking yourself?"  
  
The mouse laughed wryly. "I would if I could, mate. However, half of what we produce each day is taken by the wildcat's patrols. If it isn't enough...well, just know that executions have been getting more commonplace. The vermin will make up charges such as treason, but we know what's really going on."  
  
Nitestream, who had been standing just behind Rockfist, stepped forward and swept his left arm out wide, indicating the forces of the otters and squirrels. "Why not join us? We can use any ablebodied beast willing to help fight."  
  
Mikk took up his scythe. The sturdy pole with its long, curved blade was his instrument for cutting grain. But now...He gripped the wooden pole tightly with both paws. "I'm with you, Rock! D'you want me to rally the others?"  
  
Rockfist patted Mikk's shoulder. "That would mean a lot to us. The more we have, the better!"  
  
The mouse had begun to walk off when a young one barely able to walk toddled up and tugged his tail. "Whereya goin'? Who'zall dem?" he asked, pointing a chubby paw at the assembled fighters.  
  
Mikk dropped his scythe and lifted the babe. He walked back to Rockfist. "I can't fight with my son to look after. Can you get little Gonff to somewhere safe?"  
  
A grizzled old otter with a crooked tail stuck his javelin in the ground and stepped forward, his paws outstretched. "Look, I'd be a hindrance to our force. I'm too old to fight, as much as I'd like to. I'll take him back to Camp Willow where he'll be safe." He took the squirming infant and swiftly made off for the river.  
  
Gonff peered over the old one's shoulder and raised a tiny paw, calling back to his father. "B'bye, Daddy!"  
  
Mikk waved with a smile, then he bent down and seized his scythe. When he straightened up, his face was the picture of determination. He ran off into the fields without a word to begin raising up the others. 


	9. Attack! part one

CHAPTER NINE: ATTACK! (part one)  
  
Verduaga stood at his high window, looking out over the Kotir grounds. "I see no movement in the fields."  
Chokepaw stepped up to the window and gazed out. "You're right, Milord. What do you want me to do?"  
The wildcat turned on his heel, scarlet cloak swirling as he left his ferret Captain at the window. "Form up patrols, arm everybeast, and give them whips. Beat those idling woodlanders into submission, and if they resist, don't hesitate to slay them."  
Outside, woodlanders crouched in the fields, hidden by the vegetation. Scrawny mice, moles, and hedgehogs gripped scythes, pitchforks, and any other tools that could be used as weapons. Nearby, otters and squirrels pawed javelins or tested slings and bows.  
Verduaga leapt up on a stone pillar and looked on as the patrols filed by. He cut a handsome yet barbaric figure. The wildcat wore loose black pants of silk, which hung to mid-shin and fluttered slightly in the breeze. Over a chainmail vest he wore a leather jerkin, belted at the waist with black adderskin. His bloodred cloak was fastened at the throat with a plain brass clasp, and it flew out behind him as the wind picked up. His green eyes narrowed as he peered into the crop fields. Was that a spearhead he saw gleaming in the sun, or perhaps a broken and discarded scytheblade?  
Twenty patrols, each with fifteen soldiers, fanned out to find the workers. Verduaga's ears suddenly turned toward the fields and his eyes burned with fierce intensity as one hundred woodlanders sprang out of hiding, yelling and waving their tools as they charged the patrols.  
"Throw down those whips and draw your weapons!" roared Verduaga. He leaped down to the main doorway and shouted inside, "All soldiers to the crop fields! Put down the rebellion!"  
Knowing that their food came from the woodlanders' farms, the soldiers were only too willing to stop the uprising. Shortly, two hundred more weasels, ferrets, and stoats joined the fray.  
Chokepaw was at Verduaga's side, laughing almost amusedly. "Why are they attacking us? They know our power and training is superior to theirs!"  
He had barely finished speaking when an arrow zipped out of the crops behind the enslaved woodlanders and buried itself in his throat. As the ferret Captain of the Guard fell lifeless to the ground, another group followed the arrow out of the field. Otters bellowed war cries as they ran powerfully forward, slinging stones at the vermin until they were close enough to stab with javelins. Soldiers who were about to strike down shovel-wielding farmers were abruptly slaughtered by stones, squirrel arrows, and vicious javelin stabs.  
Verduaga could see that if this disorganized state continued, the woodlanders would soon destroy his army. The wildcat drew his scimitar and shouted, "Withdraw and form up, now!!"  
The vermin stepped back and formed a line behind the dead and feebly struggling wounded. They could see that for every woodlander slain, two vermin had been killed. Verduaga found himself suddenly short one hundred beasts.  
The woodlanders formed into a line as well, staring stonily at their enemies. Suddenly, another beast rose out of a wheat field.  
Verduaga was somewhat taken aback at the sight of this new creature. It was a big badger wearing shiny armor and a heavy, dangerous-looking battleblade at his side. The wildcat remembered suddenly that his older brother Ungatt had been killed by a badger many seasons back, and he decided to watch his step. "So, badger, are you the leader of this rabble?"  
Barkstripe was surprised at the size and savageness of the wildcat before him, but he knew that he had to keep his head in order to hide the fact that he was no warrior. The badger bared his teeth slightly and pawed the huge sword at his side. "There are rabble here, wildcat...but they're not under my command," he growled softly.  
Verduaga shouldered his way to the front of his horde. "Let's see, then. I challenge you to a duel of commanders!"


	10. Attack! part two

CHAPTER TEN: ATTACK! (part two)  
  
Barkstripe took a heavy stride forward and drew his battleblade. He had no confidence in his fighting skills, but to refuse the challenge would only give this away. And there was always the chance that he'd emerge the victor...  
Riverwyte gripped his rapier tightly. The gray otter knew that Barkstripe was no fighter, but Verduaga had been conquering and murdering for many seasons. He closed his eyes and hoped that fate would allow the badger to subdue and slay the wildcat.  
Barkstripe grunted dangerously and flipped down the visor on his helmet. Verduaga noticed dust float through the air and felt a wave of confidence surge through him. He could tell that the armor hadn't been used for a long time. The badger would at least be out of practice. As his opponent drew the huge battleblade, the wildcat darted in with his scimitar pointed at the eye slit in his enemy's helmet.  
Barkstripe lifted the sword clumsily and blocked the jab. The blade was heavier and more unwieldy than he'd thought. Nevertheless, he sent the sword into a powerful slice at Verduaga's neck.  
Almost lazily the wildcat ducked, feeling the breeze of the passing sword ruffle his ears. He leapt on Barkstripe's back as the weight and momentum of the swinging blade forced the badger to turn halfway around. Barkstripe bellowed as his foe drove the scimitar into the space between his chainmail-clad back and shoulder plate. The badger grabbed Verduaga's cloak and yanked forcefully, bunching up the material in his paw.  
Verduaga dropped his scimitar on the ground and brought both paws up to his neck. As Barkstripe tugged on the cloak, he slowly throttled his opponent. The wildcat desperately extended his claws and ripped frantically at the section of cloak near the brass clasp. As the strands parted and he was freed, Verduaga immediately dropped off of Barkstripe's back and picked up his scimitar from the ground.  
With swiftness belying his size and bulk, Barkstripe turned and, casting away the shredded remnants of the cloak, brought his sword into Verduaga's chest. The wildcat was knocked back several feet, but he remained standing. Barkstripe saw the dented chainmail vest through the hefty slice in Verduaga's leather jerkin. Trying not to look disappointed that he hadn't put more power into the jab, the badger charged forward and met blades with the wildcat.  
Both sides looked on in wonder as the two big beasts battered away at each other with their weapons. Metal flashed and grunts of pain and effort echoed throughout the scene. It was a specatacular clash of strength and ferocity.  
One thing that Boar the Fighter had possessed that his son-in-law lacked was the terrible Bloodwrath. This was beginning to show as Barkstripe started to tire. He wearily swung the huge sword back and forth, only having the strength to block Verduaga's thrusts and slashes. The wildcat, on the other hand, was used to prolonged battle and was born with feline strength and agility. He was merely playing with Barkstripe now, allowing the badger to deflect his blows.  
Suddenly Verduaga moved his scimitar like lightning and drove it deep into Barkstripe's swordpaw. The battleblade fell to the dirt with a crash as the badger's paw went limp. Eyes narrowing angrily, he threw himself into a desperate tackle, hoping he might disarm the wildcat and best him in paw-to-paw combat on the ground. It wasn't until too late that he noticed that Verduaga had been expecting this and was standing with his scimitar pointed forward. No longer having the power to stop his charge, Barkstripe fell into the blade, feeling the point puncture his armor and drive deep into him. As he slumped forward, the badger put on a defiant and denied Verduaga any additional pleasure by dying without a sound.  
Riverwyte shouldered squirrels and otters out of his way, holding his rapier high as a war cry he'd never before heard sprang unbidden to his lips. "Eeeeeuuulaaaaliaaaaaaaaa!!!" The gray otter fell on the opposing ranks like a pale hurricane, stabbing, thrusting, and slaying wildly with his slim blade. Following his lead the remainder of the woodlanders joined in with a roar.  
"Mossfloweeeeeeeeeeeeerrrrrr!!!"


	11. The Battle Ends

A quick note: So sorry the previous installment was later than the others...I do have the whole story typed now and am able to upload at my leisure. However, school has started and the work has made it difficult for me to get online as often. I hope to be able to get on more now that the original rush is over, thanks for your patience!

CHAPTER ELEVEN: THE BATTLE ENDS  
  
Riverwyte was only looking to slay one beast – the wildcat known as Verduaga Greeneyes. It was like he was trying to cut his way through a dense jungle as the gray otter dispatched many weasels, stoats, and ferrets around him. But he only saw the wildcat. Riverwyte dashed sweat and blood from his brow as he tightened his hold on the rapier hilt.  
The woodlanders fought with all their strength, but the truth was they were still heavily outnumbered. Brave creatures were beginning to fall as myriads of Kotir soldiers swamped them. Otters and squirrels were being set on by three or four vermin at a time.  
Verduaga was unaware of the hot-eyed gray otter ten feet away as he roared, "Don't kill 'em! Take 'em prisoner! Use your ropes...grrraahh!" Riverwyte had broken through the final row of vermin and laid a long slice down the wildcat's left arm. As Verduaga turned with scimitar drawn, vermin on the field began to tie up exhausted fighters.  
Riverwyte engaged in deadly swordplay with Verduaga. He was swifter and more skilled with a blade than Barkstripe had been, and was forcing the wildcat to stay on his toes. As each gave the other as good as he got, Verduaga suddenly bulled into the otter. Not expecting this, Riverwyte fell heavily to the ground, losing his rapier by accident. Verduaga quickly put the point of his scimitar to Riverwyte's throat and whistled to a nearby stoat with rope in his paws.  
The wildcat suddenly felt his blade jerk, and looked down in astonishment at the gray otter, who had both paws locked around the blade. Not seeming to feel the keen edge at it sliced into his paws, Riverwyte's eyes were tinged red as he wrenched the scimitar from the wildcat's grasp and threw it away. He'd leapt up toward Verduaga, claws aimed at his throat, when the stoat hurried to the rescue with a cudgel. Running up behind the otter, the soldier clubbed him flat and quickly tied him up before he could recover.  
Riverwyte, half-dazed from the blow, glared angrily at Verduaga as the wildcat smirked and left, treading purposely on his rudder.  
Threescore otters and twoscore squirrels were still not dead or captured. Skipper held the limp form of Mikk in his arms, tears of anger and grief streaming down his tough face. Seeing all was lost, he called to the others, "Fire one last volley of stones 'n' arrows at 'em and take off into the woods. Otters, get to the River Moss as fast as you can. Squirrels, stay in the trees. Oh, I knew this would happen!"  
The squirrels Amber was beginning to panic. She had seen her mother, the Squirrelqueen, get knocked down and bound by Kotir soldiers. "Where will we go, Skip?"  
Skipper thought for a few seconds. "The Rock. Now give 'em one last salvo to remember!"  
Arrows and stones flew into the vermin ranks, killing fifty. Verduaga looked up, but nobeast was there.  
"Ran away, hah!" growled a scarred weasel. "No matter. We've won, mates!"  
Weasels, stoats, and ferrets raised a ragged cheer, throwing down weapons and pounding on each other's backs. The bound captives on the ground groaned despairingly.  
Verduaga held up a paw for quiet. He ignored his wounds and stood before his horde with a look of silent triumph. "Stand up the captives!" he ordered suddenly. Soldiers grabbed the restrained woodlanders and stood them upright. A ferret soldier bent to pick up Riverwyte, but the otter bared his teeth and growled fiercely enough to convince the vermin to leave him alone.  
Verduaga spoke. "Well, you woodlanders have defied me. I will send you farmers back to work, and those who refuse to labor in my fields will be sent to the dungeons."  
The more peaceful farmers gulped audibly. They knew that imprisonment in the wildcat's dungeons was worse than death, and they kept any mutinous comments to themselves.  
The wildcat allowed himself a cruel smile. "All the squirrels and otters who stirred up my workers will be imprisoned. Any who resist will be slain. I will also kill any farmers who reenter my fields but later turn against me. That is the end of it."  
Verduaga turned, strode through Kotir's main gate, and headed up to his chamber in order to find a jerkin of his that was still in one piece. As he stalked up the stairs, he chuckled to himself evilly. The pathetic woodlanders' rebellion had failed, and now he was undisputedly the ruler of Mossflower.


	12. Kotir Dungeons

CHAPTER TWELVE: KOTIR DUNGEONS  
  
Riverwyte struggled in his bonds, hot anger flooding through him. Nearby, an otter was getting dragged off by Kotir soldiers. Riverwyte watched as the otter thrashed suddenly, knocking the two vermin carrying him sprawling. As they tried to lay paws on him, the otter bared his teeth and bit the first paw to come near.

The bitten weasel swore loudly. Taking off a bandanna he wore tied to his tail, the soldier cinched it tightly around the otter's neck. "Greeneyes said to kill anybeast who resist. Are _you_ resistin'?"The otter choked as his windpipe was blocked, but he refused to reply. The weasel and his companion watched impassively until the creature went limp. Leaving behind the slain otter, the pair came for Riverwyte.The gray otter was repulsed by their touch as they seized the ropes near his shoulders and began pulling him to Kotir. Rage coursed through his veins and his pale eyes were tinged scarlet as the warrior in him begged to fight. But Riverwyte had seen what had happened to the otter back on the battlefield. With an effort, he forced his emotions into submission, but anybeast watching would have noticed his teeth grinding and his paws clenching.Out of the sun and into long, dark hallways the three creatures went, two soldiers and one prisoner. They entered the dungeon and went down several flights of stairs and hallways before stopping. The weasel held Riverwyte still as his stoat accomplice produced a rusty key and opened the door. Quickly they threw the gray otter in and locked the door, cackling. "Enjoy yore new 'ccomodations, otter!"Riverwyte waited until the pawsteps and laughing had faded away. Arching his neck as far as he could, he set his teeth into the ropes. In a few minutes he was free, and he cast the pieces of rope into the corner before taking stock of his cell.Being the only living creature to personally face Verduaga, the wildcat had obviously made certain that Riverwyte was given the worst cell possible. The gray otter noted that all of the floorspace was covered with an inch of water. Mold grew on the walls and filled the air with a musty aroma. Riverwyte knew that if he stayed here long, he'd take ill very quickly and die. He squatted on his haunches to avoid sitting in the water as he thought. His only chance of escaping death in the dungeon was to escape the dungeon itself. But how? The gray otter stroked his chin, eyes half closed as he put his brain to work. After a while, a small smile crept across his features. Of course! He knew exactly how to handle things.At that moment, a stoat very wide in the gut unlocked the door. He tossed some bread in haphazardly, which Riverwyte caught before it could hit the water. Chuckling cruelly, the stoat slammed and relocked the door. "Didn't bring ye water; figger y'had enough already." His footsteps disappeared into silence.Riverwyte munched grimly on the bread, chancing a look of the water he was standing in. It was filthy, murky slop; he'd have to be at death's door before he drank it. Now he had a time problem; he'd have to be out before his need for water killed him. 


	13. The Plan

CHAPTER THIRTEEN: THE PLAN  
  
The following morning, Verduaga strode boldly through the main corridor and down the stairs into the dungeon. His new green cloak swirling majestically about him, the wildcat descended to the bottom-level dungeon and stopped in front of the cell of the strange gray otter. He peered in.

Riverwyte had obviously had a bad night. His fur was drenched and dirty in places from the filthiness of the water. The otter fixed his pale eyes on Verduaga in a vacant stare.Verduaga shuddered. Something about this otter's eyes was unsettling, and it didn't help that there was a wild, sleepless look about them. The otter stirred, grinding his teeth angrily. He started to stand up but fell to the flooded floor, bending double with agony and coughing violently.The wildcat's disturbed look melted into an expression of cruel satisfaction. "Not very nice in there, is it?" he hissed. "Feel sick, or cold, maybe? Yes, it was rather chilly last night."Riverwyte's eyes blazed with hatred and he looked as if he were about to spring at the bars, but his quiet growl dissolved into another coughing fit. His shoulders sagged in despair.Verduaga smirked and stalked back upstairs. Nobeast lasted long in the place he had affectionately come to call the "death cell."Riverwyte waited until he could no longer hear the wildcat's receding footsteps before stopping the cough. He stood up and shook himself disgustedly, ridding himself of the smelly water. The otter allowed himself a small grin of satisfaction. If he kept this up, he could convince the wildcat and his guards that he was becoming deathly ill. Then would come the next stage of his plan. He squeezed water from the vest he wore and from his bark-colored kilt. It wouldn't be long now.Several days later, Verduaga Greeneyes made his daily trip down to the otter's cell to see how he was faring. The previous day, Riverwyte had barely been able to lift his head from the sludge to look at him. The wildcat was eager to see what pathetic state his prisoner was in now. As he gazed through the bars in the door, he saw Riverwyte sprawled out in the water as he had been the day before."Otter!" he taunted. "Are you so weak already that you cannot raise your head to look upon greatness?" No reply followed. Verduaga stared closely at his captive and realized that there was no movement of his sides or back. He unlocked the door and crouched by the limp otter's side, using a claw to pry open one of the closed eyes. It was turned up so that only the white showed. The wildcat then tested Riverwyte's paws by lifting and dropping them. They were as limp as overcooked noodles.Verduaga chuckled triumphantly. Another enemy defeated. He wouldn't even bother to call the guards; he could get rid of the body himself, in a place he thought fitting. Seizing Riverwyte's body by the hindpaws, he dragged him from the cell and up the flights of stairs, laughing as he watched the otter's head jarring limply on the hard stone stairs. Upon reaching the main front door, Verduaga dragged Riverwyte out and tossed him indiscriminately onto the garbage pile. The wildcat surveyed his work with a snigger and swept back into his castle.Riverwyte lay still for several minutes before squinting hard a few times and taking stock of his position. He could feel the bruises on the back of his head from the trip up the stairs already; he gritted his teeth and tried to ignore them. The otter breathed lightly through his mouth due to the noxious smell of the garbage heaped up beneath him. It was nearly noon, and by now the soldiers had deserted the parade ground for lunch. It was but the work of a moment for Riverwyte to haul his aching body upright and slip out the main gate into the woodlands. But as sore as he was, Riverwyte was desperately thirsty and took the shortest route to the River Moss at a run. It wasn't long before he was swimming in the cool water, drinking his fill and scrubbing the grime from his fur. Guessing that the surviving resistance fighters had gathered at Camp Willow, Riverwyte set off for it immediately. 


	14. Reunions and Departures

CHAPTER FOURTEEN: REUNIONS AND DEPARTURES  
  
Skipper looked up from a cauldron of hotroot soup he was stirring at the sound of dripping. There, on the bank, was his brother Riverwyte. The big otter let go of the soup ladle and approached his sibling. "Riverwyte, where've y'been? We thought you'd been slain with the others!"

The gray otter shrugged nonchalantly. "Got captured."

Skipper shook his brother's paw excitedly. "You escaped their dungeons?!"

Riverwyte let his paw hang limp in Skipper's as he shrugged again. "In a way."

Skipper let go of Riverwyte's paw, noticing the distant look in his brother's eyes. "What's wrong, mate?"

Riverwyte's eyes narrowed and he clenched his paws until the tendons stood out. "I only got captured, only lost my rapier, only had to suffer the shame of living in their dungeons!" he rasped in a voice strained with helpless rage.

Skipper stepped closer and put a comforting paw on his brother's shoulder. Riverwyte recoiled slightly. "So what are you gonna do?" Skipper inquired.

A table nearby was piled with food for lunch; Riverwyte turned abruptly and seized a knapsack, filling it with food and a few other things before slinging it onto his back. He slid a long dagger decisively into his belt as he faced Skipper again. "I'm going roving for a while, to prove to everyone that I'm a true otter. I can't live among you with this kind of shame on my shoulders. I just need to get out." Without further explanation, he turned and began walking due north, snatching his walking staff off a rack as he passed it.

Skipper followed him. "I would go with you, but I can't. I'm Skipper here now, leader of all the ottercrews!"

Riverwyte stopped suddenly and faced his brother. "You are?"

Skipper met his brother's strange eyes. "Yes. After the battle was over, Mum, Bargud, and a few cousins refused to live under the heel of a conqueror, but they also didn't want another battle. They forced me to come with them, but I was no longer of a mind to follow anybeast's will but my own. So I left them after only two days, and when I returned here, they made me official Skipper."

Riverwyte looked confused. "Surely Dad didn't go with them? And what about all the crew leaders? Why didn't one of them become Skipper?"

Skipper shook his head slowly. "All the crew leaders, even Rockfist and Nitestream, are dead or captured."

Riverwyte took a step back toward Skipper. "And Dad?"

The big otter was silent. Finally he choked out, "Dad...didn't make it either."

Riverwyte moaned as all the despair, shame, and hopelessness set on his mind at the same time. Not able to take any more, he tore off north as fast as he could go, blinking tears of grief and anger away.

Skipper watched as Riverwyte was lost to sight in the trees. "Good luck...my brother."

At that moment a tiny mousebabe toddled over to Skipper and pulled on his tail. "Who him run 'way?"

Skipper lifted the little tyke in his strong paws. "That's my brother, liddle matey. He's sad 'cause our father died."

The mousebabe sucked on his paw thoughtfully. "Died?"

Skipper stroked the young one's headfur. "Like yore daddy, liddle Gonff. He went to sleep an' didn't wake up." The otter glanced sadly over to the cemetery erected by the big willow tree. He could see the headboard etched with "Mikk Deftpaw, warrior of the Rebellion."

Gonff did not entirely understand the permanent effects of death, which was plain as he playfully swatted at Skipper's tough whiskers. "But you me daddy now, right big matey?"

Skipper indicated the masses of otters now crowding the lunch table. "Naw, we're all your daddies."

The mousebabe hugged the otter's big paw. "But you my favorite daddy!"

Skipper grinned with pleasure, then looked north to where his brother had gone. The smile slowly faded from his face. "Good luck," he repeated under his breath.


	15. Roving

**AUTHOR NOTE: Sincere apologies for the long wait. My computer crashed just over a month ago and we've only just restored internet access. And since the files have to be saved in the computer, the library computers weren't much help. Sorry again to the people who were following this; I hope you can pick it back up all right.**

**CHAPTER FIFTEEN: ROVING**

The day dawned cool and clear, and already Riverwyte was on the move. The gray otter breathed deeply, enjoying the crisp air as he trekked through the trees. He'd been at this roving a week now and he was enjoying it immensely. The solitude was what he liked the most; unlike most otters, Riverwyte was fairly laid back and was not prone to overexcitement. It might have been a little too peaceful, but he was not worried. Vermin were common in the dense forests, and there'd definitely be some ruckus once he found one! The otter laughed to himself at the idea.

It was just before noon when he stopped to eat. Noting that the sack he'd brought from Camp Willow was nearly empty, Riverwyte asserted that when he next stopped at a river he'd get some fish. The otter ate a bit of mushroom and watershrimp pastie gratefully and stretched his legs. Life was good.

Without warning, a panicked bellow rent the air which Riverwyte recognized as the sound of a badger's yell. He picked up his staff and ran toward the source of the noise. Coming over a small rise, he peered out from behind a tree.

A young badger stood about fifty feet away, surrounded by seventy-odd ferrets and weasels. The beast was barely five seasons old, but he possessed the strength of most full-grown vermin and was attempting to fight them all off. Riverwyte stared at the badger in wonder; he'd never seen one with a golden headstripe before.

A young ferret about the same age as the badger leapt on it from behind. He tightened his young arms around his adversary's neck with surprising savagery until an older weasel grabbed his tunic and threw him off. "Gurr, get back, young Swartt. Badgers are bigbeast's business only."

A middle-aged ferret with an ample waist strode up and put his speartip against the growling young badger's throat. "H'wodd ya doin', eh? I sed t'keel th' stoopid badger'r 'bout twenny minute ago, did I not? Mebbe I keel 'im meself, 'fore dis upstart Sixclaw do't forya, eh?"

Riverwyte's warrior blood was roused. Before he could take the time to think rationally, he charged down at the spear-wielding ferret, long dagger in paw. "Leave that beast aloooooooooone!" The ferret sprang back in alarm, allowing an old weasel to take the dagger thrust meant for him.

"Keel 'im, ye fools!"

The vermin poured on the otter all at once. Riverwyte then realized his mistake. He'd forgotten that, for the first time, he was not backed up by more otters. Also he'd let his anger drive him to battle an impossible number of enemies. Baring his teeth, he fought with all his strength, employing weapons such as claws and teeth in addition to his dagger. Fifteen vermin died under Riverwyte's desperate ferocity, but it was not enough. The others drew their swords and Riverwyte sank into blackness as the twenty closest vermin introduced him to the keen edges of their blades. The last thing he saw before fading away was the young ferret and a small group of other juvenile vermin beating the badger unconscious and dragging him away on a rope.

Slowly the world came back into focus as Riverwyte opened his eyes. He shifted an arm and his entire body was inundated with pain. The gray otter shut his eyes tightly and gasped for air, mouth slightly open. He lay there for several minutes as the waves of pain ebbed away, then forced himself to sit up. Shallow gashes had been scored all over his body by enemy blades. His vest had been literally cut off him and his kilt was tattered. Riverwyte felt a frantic desire for water, both to drink and to clean his wounds. Obviously the vermin had left him for dead. He fought intense agony and rose to his hindpaws, only to fall over. He repeated this several times before finally getting to an upright position, feeling that somehow his balance was off. Looking behind, Riverwyte realized with horror why – his tail was gone.


	16. Aftermath

**CHAPTER SIXTEEN: AFTERMATH**

The gray otter felt faint (probably from loss of blood) as he stumbled weakly up the rise and found where he'd dropped his walking stick before he'd charged. Riverwyte leaned heavily on the stick and sniffed the air. Sensing running water off to the west, he hobbled unsteadily in that direction for nearly a quarter mile before reaching the River Moss. He'd made it across the sandy bank when his legs finally gave out and he collapsed into the shallows. With churned-up bottom mud flowing across his wounds, Riverwyte gritted his teeth and allowed strangled whimpers of pain to escape his throat. The gray otter lay there a long time, enduring the agony dumbly. As he lay there half-conscious, a thought slowly crossed his mind. _I could end it right here_. He watched the river flow by through half-closed eyes. _I could get in the water, dive down, and never come up_.

Several minutes passed by as he digested this thought. Suddenly, he raised himself up on his forepaws and knees with a decisive fire in his pale eyes. Kicking off with his footpaws, he entered the water. Ignoring the stinging from his cuts and the numbing pain from the place his rudder had been, he swam listlessly around, waiting for his breath to run out. His eye caught something green on the riverbed. It was a waterweed used by otters to clean wounds.

The sight awakened a voice within the otter. It told him of the joys of life and implored him not to give up. Riverwyte shook his head. What was he doing? Drowning himself in the river?! Idiot! He struck out for the waterweed with all his power and determination. It was hard to swim without his powerful tail to help propel him; the otter kicked his footpaws strongly but wasn't getting anywhere fast.

Finally he uprooted a large pawful and kicked frantically to get back to the surface. Once there, Riverwyte dragged himself painfully ashore and manipulated the bunch of waterweed until he'd woven the mass into a spongelike pad. Gingerly he used it to wash his injuries and clean dried blood from his fur. Slightly refreshed and energized from his swim, Riverwyte limped up the bank and searched the woodland fringe for medicinal plants. After obtaining them, he pulled a roll of bandages from his knapsack that he'd found near his walking stick. Mixing juices from crushed plants with powdered dock leaves, the otter dabbed the mixture painfully onto his tail stump, wincing hard but not making a sound. Riverwyte then wrapped the full bandage roll over the wound and around his waist until it was sufficiently bandaged.

He stood there on the riverbank for almost an hour, leaning on his staff and watching the uncounted gallons of water gurgle by. Never again would he be able to swim with other otters. He thought for an instant about returning to Camp Willow where he'd be safe, then dashed it from his mind. He could never go back there to live, for he knew how he'd be treated. Some of the meaner-spirited creatures might whisper and point behind his back. Worse, the others would show pity for him. He admitted to himself that it is good to take pity on others, but he hated being pitied himself. He knew that eyes would always stray to where his tail had once been.

Riverwyte stroked his chin and an idea popped into his head. He could find a place to live alone in the forest. His brother would be allowed to visit, but few others. While there, he could put his skill of disguise to work. There were many vermin roaming the woods, many who would also take a creature's life, freedom, or rudder for the sake of fun. Many who deserved to die.

On that riverbank, Riverwyte forgot his old name and declared himself the Mask, slayer and infiltrator of vermin!


	17. Searchers and Vermin

**CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: SEARCHERS AND VERMIN**

Nearly a season had passed since Riverwyte had left Camp Willow, and nobeast had seen the gray otter for a long time.

Skipper was getting worried about him. He popped a candied chestnut into his mouth as he paced across camp. Suddenly the otter got a flash of inspiration and jogged off to the storeroom for a large bag of the sweet nuts before he took off into the forest.

A chubby robin was perched in an ivy-covered tree as Skipper stopped beneath it. The bird's bright eye watched the bag of candied chestnuts as the big otter shook it and caused the contents to rattle.

"Ahoy there, Chibb! I've got a mission for you t'take under yore wing!"

The robin stepped further out onto the branch so the otter Chieftain could see him. "Garrumph, ahem! What do you want of me? Can't stay around all day." His beady eyes shifted nervously.

Skipper crinkled the bag a bit and watched a drop of saliva drop off the end of Chibb's beak. "I need you to find my brother, Riverwyte. He has gray fur and pale eyes, and he often wears a vest and a kilt. He's probably somewhere north of here."

Chibb eyed the bag of candied chestnuts hungrily but resisted the urge. He hopped forward on the branch. "That doesn't give me, harrumph, much to go on."

Skipper gave the robin a look of pained anguish. "Please, mate. I haven't seen my brother in for a season now. I'd like to know that he's alive."

Chibb looked from Skipper's pleading face to the bag of candied chestnuts he held tightly in one paw. Opening his wings, he dropped from the tree and landed in front of the big otter. Looking solemnly up at Skipper, the robin bobbed his head once. "Er, I'll do it!"

Not much later, Chibb winged over Camp Willow, the sack of candied chestnuts strapped to his side.

Somewhere in the northern woods, a band of rats was making its way through the trees as they searched for plunder. The leader was a big, burly, black rat named Throkk. He had a large gold earring in his left ear and teeth, bones, and claws hanging from his broad leather belt. Other than that he wore loose, knee-length brown pants and two belts strapped diagonally across his chest. Presently he climbed up the trunk of a tree that had broken off ten feet above the ground. Searching the landscape, he noticed a faint wisp of smoke and sniffed the air. "Ahhhh, me 'earties," he cackled to his twenty rats. "Who wants to taste mouse tonight? Goreclaw, C'mere an' tell me what you think."

Goreclaw was a gray rat of medium build with half a tail. He scaled the tree stump and sat next to Throkk. The ends of the purple bandanna tied about his brow fluttered in the breeze as he broke into an evil grin. "Methinks tonight after those mice fall asleep, we should surprise 'em wid a nice barbecue."

Throkk smiled appreciatively. Goreclaw was a fairly new recruit but he showed all the bloodthirstiness that the rat leader admired. "Heh heh...soun's good t'me."

Goreclaw looked around and noticed the rest of the rats were standing at ease around a small fire they were coaxing to life. He nodded slightly. It was time.

Throkk suddenly squealed and fell dead from the tree. Goreclaw climbed swiftly down, holding a bloodstained dagger in his paw. As the gray rat reached the forest floor, one of the others called to him. "'Ey Goreclaw! What was that?"

Goreclaw held up his reddened dagger. "Throkk's dead. I killed 'im," he confessed matter-of-factly.

Another rat ran up to his gray-furred compatriot. "Wot 'ja do that for? Only a sickbeast slays 'is own kind!"

Goreclaw sneered. Why d'you think I did it then, if yore so smart?!"

The rat bared his teeth. "'Cuz you want to be leader, eh?"

Goreclaw suddenly ripped off his muzzle and flung away his tail stump. "Guess again, vermin! I, the Mask, have come to send you all to the teeth of death!"


	18. The Mask

**CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: THE MASK**

The rats yelled in surprise and panic as they frantically searched for their weapons, but not fast enough. Mask excelled in speed and agility even without his rudder, and stabbed half of them to death before they could lay paws on their spears and blades. Those that were left hefted their weapons and attacked, but Mask's ferocity and strength outmatched them. Before long, every rat had been wrestled to the ground and slain.

The gray otter uncorked his canteen and washed the blood from his wounds away. They were minor and would heal in a few days. After bandaging the worst cuts, Mask set off for his new home.

Near the river in a dense section of forest was a huge hollow log. The tree that it had once been was several hundred seasons old when it fell, so Mask didn't even have to duck to enter its gutted shell. The gray otter hung up the rat muzzle and tail on the wall next to all his other disguises. The false tails, muzzles, ears, and teeth of foxes, rats, ferrets, stoats, weasels, squirrels, hedgehogs, and hares decorated the entire right wall of Mask's log home. The other wall sported clip-on ear, nose, and tail jewelry along with every imaginable type of goodbeast and vermin clothing. For now, Mask kept on the heavy tattered black tunic and silk cloak he'd been wearing as a rat. Grabbing a pole with a net fastened to the end, the otter headed toward the River Moss, licking his lips. He felt like having a good trout for lunch.

Chibb had deduced that the most reasonable place to find an otter was the northern length of the River Moss, so he flew as slowly as he could above it, searching the water and the banks thoroughly. Around noon he perched in an elm by the bank and ate several nuts from his sack. He'd been flying for several hours now and needed a break.

There was a splash in the river about fifty feet off. Chibb swallowed the chestnut he was eating and craned his neck to see what was going on.

A creature was shoulder-deep in the water, splashing around. Curious, the robin flew down to the bank and watched. The gray-furred beast suddenly splashed ashore with a full net of fish. Chibb recognized it as an otter, but was confused at first because it wore tattered vermin-type garb and seemed to lack a tail. He met the creature as it stepped up onto the bank.

"Hrumph! Ahemhem, sir! Garrumph, 'scuse me. D'you know of an otter in these parts by the name of Riverwyte?" He cleared his throat again because he was nervous.

Mask pondered. "Riverwyte, y'say? Yes, I know the beast. What d'you want him for?"

Chibb was strangely unsettled by the peculiar otter's gaze. Perhaps it had something to do with the paleness of his eyes – they almost matched the gray of his fur. Suddenly something about Skipper's description of his brother rang true and the robin realized who was standing before him. However, he decided to not let Riverwyte know of his flash of insight. Instead he hopped from side to side, expressing his apprehension. "Why do I want him? His brother, Skipper, is worried about him. The poor beast wants to be sure, ahem, Riverwyte isn't dead.

Mask smiled slightly. So somebeast still cared about him. He didn't doubt that Skipper would want to visit, so he told the robin, "Yes, Riverwyte's all right. I can tell you where he lives so this Skipper beast can find him. See that island?" He pointed to a small deposit of rocks and mud with a young tree cresting it in midstream. "Well, you travel due east from it and eventually you'll find an ole hollow log. That's where he lives."

Chibb nodded vigorously, wanting to leave the presence of this odd creature. "Yes, harrumph, thank you...sir. Well, I must go, Skipper will be very pleased to know that!" Turning quickly, he performed a short run before flapping his way into the air. Like an arrow the robin sped back to where Camp Willow was located.


	19. Reunion

**CHAPTER NINETEEN: REUNION**

Skipper used his javelin to push aside a tall fern. Before him lay a huge hollow log. The sight brought a satisfied smile out of the big otter. It was the day after Chibb had returned with his news. Skipper had left as soon as possible, wanting more than anything to see his brother again. Cautiously he moved forward, not wanting to surprise Riverwyte. For all his brother knew he could be a vermin, after all.

Without warning, a tall, lean, and very tough-looking male squirrel dropped down in front of Skipper and folded his paws in a businesslike manner. "What are you doing here? This is Spearbrush territory," he challenged the otter tersely. His eyes were narrowed as he stared at Skipper intimidatingly.

The big otter took a step forward, but the squirrel set his chest against Skipper's and pushed him back forcefully, bristling slightly. "I said, what are you doing here? Who are you, anyway?"

Skipper looked over the squirrel's shoulder at the hollow log ahead. "I'm Skipper of Camp Willow, here to look for my brother, Riverwyte. He supposedly lives here."

The squirrel smiled. "Ah, I see. Here, I'll show you in." He gripped Skipper's shoulders and steered him into the log.

A little taken aback at the squirrel's abrupt change of mood, the big otter looked around expectantly. "Where is he?"

The squirrel grinned again. "He's here now! I am the Mask," he told Skipper, extending his paw.

Skipper shook the beast's paw distractedly. "Yes, yes, thank you...but where's Riverwyte?"

Mask sighed as he shed his false ears, whiskers, tail, and teeth, unbuttoning the tunic and pulling it off to reveal his normal vest and kilt. "Ah, I remember you, Skipper of Camp Willow. As I said, I am the Mask."

Skipper shook his head. "The Mask? I thought you were Riverwyte."

Mask smiled slightly. "I am. Once I went by Riverwyte, but that name is gone now. I am the Mask, master of disguise and subterfuge. I've dedicated my life to using my skills for the slaying of vermin." He sat down on a rock and Skipper noticed something else that was different.

"Ri- er, Mask. Mate, where's your rudder?"

Mask ran his paw over the place where his tail had been. "Lost it," he stated matter-of-factly. "In battle," he added as an afterthought.

Skipper put a paw on his brother's shoulder. "I'm sorry. How do you swim?"

Mask sighed, allowing some emotion to surface. "I don't, at least not much. I only get in the water to fish these days. All because I was fool enough to attack seventy ferrets single-pawed."

Skipper smiled proudly. "Well, you lived through it, at least!"

Mask nodded. "Yes, but now I live only to rid my part of the woods of vermin. I can infiltrate them easily." He stood up and grabbed several things from the right wall. "I can become a fox, ferret, stoat, weasel, rat, or anything I choose. I join their band and run with them long enough to figure out their fighting strengths and weaknesses. Then I turn on them when the time is right and kill them all." He turned around as a tall, scarred weasel with an unreadable tattoo on one cheek.

The disguise was so realistic that Skipper's subconscious urged him to attack. As it was, he'd laid his paw on the sling tied about his middle without even thinking about it. Forcing his warrior spirit into submission, Skipper stepped forward and clasped the weasel's paws. "Mask, you don't have to live here alone. You can come back and live at Camp Willow with me and the others. We're trying to get another force together to overthrow Verduaga sometime in the future. I think our new plan might work!"

Mask quickly reconfigured himself so that he was an otter again. He put his paws on Skipper's shoulders and stared him eye to eye. The gray otter felt his brother shift uneasily and smiled wryly to himself. "That's okay, Skip. I don't think I should come back. I enjoy the solitude up here, and knocking off a villain every once in a while is good for my warrior spirit, saves me from going insane. Also, I can feel your nervousness. I know my eyes, and especially the recent loss of my rudder, will unnerve many of the other otters. Some of the nicer ones may try to make me feel included, but I don't want anyone treating me differently just because of my unfortunate experiences. I will continue to live up here and rid the woods of vermin, but you can visit if you like. I don't mind." He leaned close to Skipper's ear. "And if you're ever ready to attack the wildcat, send for me. I'll be glad to help any way I can."

Skipper smiled understandingly. "Right, then. I'll head back to Camp Willow, but I'll be back at least once every season. Good luck with your hunting, my brother."

Mask embraced Skipper in a tight hug. "And good luck against ol' Greeneyes, Skip. I'll be here when you need me." The gray otter watched Skipper as the big otter turned and began walking south. Long after his brother had disappeared into the distance, Mask was still watching the spot where he'd lost sight of him. Suddenly, he lifted his head and sniffed the air. A band of ferrets was nearby. The gray otter put on a fake muzzle and ears, choosing a false ferret tail and dusting dark marks over his eyes. Donning a ragged tunic and a feathered beret, he left his log with a spear in his paw.

Mask was on the hunt again.


End file.
